


Serendipity Disguised

by Brate



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick finds himself caught in an investigation that turns deadly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity Disguised

Parking the SUV near the taped-off section, Nick Stokes exited the vehicle. He grabbed his forensic field kit from the backseat and headed toward the flashing lights.

"Well, hello there, hotshot."

Nick turned at the familiar female voice. "Detective Secula," he greeted, "it's been a while."

The Las Vegas detective shook her blonde hair and smiled. "Can't keep a good woman down."

"What do we have?" Nick asked, surveying the scene. The criminologist had been assigned the case alone and had driven to an abandoned factory on the west end of town. The crime scene was just beyond, on the desert's edge; the buildings stopped and nothing but the emptiness remained.

"DB," Secula stated, leading him under the yellow police tape, "male, approximately thirty-five years of age, apparent gunshot wound."

"Any witnesses?"

"Are you kidding? Here?" She waved her hand at the remote location. "Unless a bird flying over had a camera attached, I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Nick set his field kit down and walked carefully to the corpse. A good-looking, well-groomed man lay on his side on the ground. Stokes' gaze took in every aspect of the area and the body. The victim was wearing expensive chinos, a button-down Oxford and Cole Haan loafers. There wasn't much wear on the shoes; he obviously hadn't walked to the present location. "Nice clothes," he commented out loud.

"Dress casual," Secula agreed. "Maybe he was on a date?"

"Could be," Nick said. "How was he found?"

"Anonymous call."

"I'll need the tape."

"Already having it sent to your lab."

Nick smiled. "Thanks." It was always easier to do his job when the police worked in tandem with the crime lab, instead of fighting them tooth and nail. "There's not much blood here."

"Meaning he was killed somewhere else and brought here."

"Looks that way."

"Coroner already cleared the body. You're good to go," the detective said. "I'll be over on the sidelines if you need me."

"Yeah, okay." Nick watched her walk away, recalling the few dates they had gone on the previous year, but not necessarily regretting it didn’t lead anywhere.

Refocusing on his job, Nick slowly walked the perimeter, shining his flashlight in sweeping arcs. Just north of the body, he caught sight of a tire track in the sandy dirt. Marking it, he continued his circuit. Nothing else was found around the corpse, so he started taking photographs of the entire scene and the body's position. Putting the camera away, he opened his kit, mixed some casting plaster, and poured it into the grooves of the tire's tread. While it dried, he directed his attention to the body itself.

Meticulously searching the corpse, Nick found a longish blond hair, complete with a skin tag which would give him DNA to compare with a suspect's.

Finishing his examination of the body, Stokes checked the print cast and found it solid. He harvested a soil sample along with the cast. Performing a final walk-through, he made sure he hadn't missed anything.

Gathering his things, Nick motioned to the coroners they could remove the body. He watched as the men lifted it into a body bag and zipped it up. Turning away, he walked to where Detective Secula stood, leaning against her car door.

"Find anything?" she asked him.

"Maybe – a tire track and a hair."

"Not his?"

Nick smirked. "Not unless he recently cut and dyed his hair." He moved over to the SUV, placing his supplies in the back. He called over his shoulder, "I'll let you know when I come up with something."

"Appreciate it. Call me anytime."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

When Archie hadn't been able to get anything from the 911 audio tape, Nick walked around the corner to the DNA Lab. He saw the young, faux-punk technician bent over a microscope. "Greg, just the man I wanted to see."

Greg Sanders looked up and shook his head. "Don't bother asking, it ain't gonna happen."

"What are you talking about?"

"Whatever it is you need me to do." Greg waved his hand at the full tabletop. "Grissom has claimed priority over everything – as usual – and Warrick is chomping at the bit. Even resorted to sending Sara in to schmooze me."

"Come on, I only have one tiny hair to process. Can't you squeeze me in?"

"No way," Greg said, "especially after sending me off on that wild goose chase last week."

Nick ducked his head to hide a smirk. "I thought you'd like a little adventure."

"Not funny. It took me two days to wash all the Jell-o outta my hair."

A sigh signaling his surrender, Nick offered, "Send me a page when you get it?"

"No problemo."

With DNA a bust, Nick went to the Morgue. Sliding on the sterile garb – a gown and latex gloves – he waltzed into the autopsy room. "David, what do you have for me?" he asked the assistant M.E. The body was laid out on the table, a very fit, healthy-looking victim – except for the hole in his chest.

David Phillips, the junior pathologist, waved him closer. "Meet John Morris, thirty-four years old. I ran his fingerprints through AFIS – one misdemeanor two years ago for DUI. Clean record since then." He pointed to the hole in the flesh of Morris' chest. "He died from a bullet to the heart, severing the left atrium and the left ventricle. Death was instantaneous."

"Lucky him." Nick studied the corpse as the coroner talked. It was his job, but sometimes Nick still had a hard time getting used to it. The chest was wide open, exposing the organs. He just didn't have the thrill of exploration that some seemed to have when confronted with a mutilated body.

"I'm betting your victim knew his killer," David added. "He has no defensive wounds, no signs of struggle."

"The element of surprise."

"Exactly." The pathologist held up a pan, something rattled around inside. "The bullet—nine millimeter. I'll send it to ballistics."

"Anything else?" Nick asked him.

"That's all I have right now."

"Okay, thanks, man."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Stokes called Secula to give her an update. "Detective, it's Nick Stokes."

 _"Got something for me, Stokes?"_

 __"A name: John Morris."

 _"You're getting slow in your old age. I already got that from the M.E."_

 __"That right?"

 _"Yes,"_ Secula responded, a trace of laughter in her voice. _"I'm working on a warrant for his house. I'll come pick you up when it comes through."_

"If you wouldn't mind," Nick said sarcastically.

 _"Of course not, I figure you should earn your wage at some point."_

 __"See you when you get here."

With time on his hands before Secula arrived, Nick decided to try his luck with the tire tread he had found at the scene. Weaving his way through the labyrinth of hallways, he found an empty computer and started to work. After scanning the track into the computer, he started a search of the database. The computer flicked through photos in rapid succession, searching for a match.

Leaning back in the chair, Nick crossed his arms and waited.

"What have you got?"

Nick jerked up at his supervisor's voice; he swiveled in his chair to see Gil Grissom standing in the doorway, ever-present expression of curiosity on his face. Nick gave a quick rundown of his case. "Of course, if you'd let me skip ahead of you in DNA…"

Gil smiled enigmatically. "Nice try, Nick, but what I need is time sensitive. I'm afraid you'll just have to be patient."

"Story of my life."

"Keep me informed," Grissom called as he pushed from the doorframe and walked away.

"Ya sure, you betcha," Nick mumbled. Glancing over at the computer screen, he noticed the search had ended. His results were displayed on the screen. The tread matched the 17 inch, 225/55R17 H-rated Bridgestone, sold standard on the 2003 Lexus LS 430. "There's got to be a thousand of those in Vegas," he mumbled, disappointed.

"Let me guess, your tire tread matched a 2003 Lexus LS 430."

Nick turned to greet Detective Secula. "And you know that how?"

"Guess what our victim drove?"

Sighing, Nick replied, "A 2003 Lexus LS 430."

"Bingo." Secula placed a hand on the desk and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Want to go for a ride?" She flashed a search warrant and grinned.

"Let's go," he answered, grabbing his field kit on their way out.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Nick looked around the immaculate townhouse. "This guy has got to have the best maid service ever."

"Maybe he cleaned it himself," Secula commented.

"Single guy? Doubtful." Nick smiled knowingly. "The only reason my place stays clean is Madeline."

"Madeline?" Secula sniffed with a raised brow.

"She's sixty and a master of the toilet brush."

"Ah."

Thoroughly canvassing the residence, Stokes found no evidence of foul play and little sign of anything else. "I couldn't find an address book," he said.

"John Morris had one sister, Emily Porter, lives over on the east side. I interviewed her and she didn't seem surprised by her brother's death."

"Why's that?" Nick asked, looking up from his inspection of the victim's bed.

"Said he'd been hanging out with a 'dangerous crowd.'"

"Anyone in particular?"

"No names," Secula said. "Apparently the siblings weren't all that close."

"Great." He finished the house and checked for the missing car. The garage was empty of vehicles.

"There's no sign of struggle, no hint of blood," Nick lamented.

"I put an APB out on his car," Secula offered. "It should turn up."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The detective pulled up in front of the crime lab and threw the car into park. "Want to get something to eat?" she asked him.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'd better process what little we have."

"Don't worry, Stokes, you'll find something…. You always do."

Nick gave her a sideways glance. "Uh, thanks, Secula."

"Just telling it like it is." As he got out of the car, she said, "Call if you find anything."

"Will do." Nick walked quickly through the lobby and into the back. He noticed his fellow forensic investigators Warrick Brown and Sara Sidle in a discussion outside the locker room.

"What're you guys up to?"

"Helping Grissom with his triple homicide," Warrick answered. "You?"

"Working on a single." His pager beeped and he grabbed it from his belt, looking at the message from Ballistics. "Damn."

"Problem?" Sara asked him.

"No match on the murder weapon. I need to find a pistol to compare striations."

"Well, bro, you can't win them all," Warrick offered.

Sara chuckled.

Nick waved them off and continued into the break room. Flopping down in a chair, he groaned. He was frustrated; DNA was still held up, tire tracks were a dead end without the vehicle, nothing of use was found at the victim's house. He had reached an impasse. But Nick refused to twiddle his thumbs waiting for Greg to finish. There must be something he had missed.

Leaning against the counter, he laid his head back. Closing his eyes, he willed inspiration to hit.

It did.

The victim's clothes. He had yet to fully process the apparel John Morris had been wearing at the time of his death. Jumping up from the chair, he hurried through the maze to the Evidence Room. Nick collected the box containing John Morris' possessions and took it to the nearest empty lab.

Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, he removed the first plastic bag. He opened it, revealing the pair of khaki pants. Laying the pants on the sterile table, he started to scan them. Up one leg, down the next, he turned them over, repeating his exploration on the back. Finding nothing, he replaced them in the bag and pulled out the next bag.

Spreading out the shirt, he carefully examined the front before turning it over. As soon as he saw the back, he smiled. There was a blood smear from the exit point, suggesting the victim was pushed or dragged after being shot. But there had been no drag marks near the body, nor was there a dirt pattern on the shirt. Nick had found no footprints, but he had found tire tracks. Perhaps Morris had been killed in his car and then pushed out. Which meant–

Movement caught his eye and Nick looked up to see Catherine Willows walking past the lab's windows.

"Hey, Catherine!" he called.

The strawberry blonde pivoted, looking to spot who yelled. "Hey, yourself."

"You got a minute?"

"I've got the rest of the night." Catherine smiled as she gave a little shimmy. "I already wrapped up my case."

"I could use a hand testing out a theory."

"I'm all yours."

"If only that were true," Nick said melodramatically, holding a hand over his heart.

"Uh-huh." Catherine wasn't impressed. "You couldn't handle me."

"Actually," Nick said, "I'm hoping that _you_ will handle _me_." He chuckled at her puzzled expression.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Outside, Stokes and Willows walked across the parking lot. Nick wore a T-shirt with a button-down shirt over it. Stopping at a car, he remarked to Catherine, "It's the same basic size of the 2003 Lexus, the car the victim drove. I'm figuring that's where Morris got nailed."

"You decided this how?"

"At the crime scene, Detective Secula commented the victim could've been out on a date. It got me thinking–"

"Whatever works," Catherine said wryly.

Smiling, Nick continued, "The blood trail on the victim's shirt clearly showed he was moved after he was shot, but there was no indication of that in the dirt at the scene. The only tracks close to the body belonged to his car." He motioned to the vehicle before him with a flourish. "What if he knew the killer... was out on a date with her?"

"And they started getting frisky in the backseat." Catherine was getting into the rhythm. "She shot him and then pushed him out."

"Exactly."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Make out with me."

Catherine's eyebrows rose.

"It's make believe," Nick assured her. He gestured to the car beside them. "This car will be our testing area–"

"Does Greg know you're using his car?"

"He owes me," Nick answered readily. "I happen to have a similar build to John Morris..."

"And I get to be your killer?" Catherine guessed.

"Yep."

Catherine climbed into the backseat of the car. Nick followed. Holding her thumb and forefinger as a gun, she said, "Bang," and simultaneously pushed the button exploding the dye pack taped to Nick's outer shirt, simulating the exit wound. Nick slumped over, playing dead. Catherine reached across him, opened the car door, and tried to push him from the car. She had to strain, and finally resorted to using her feet to push him from the car.

Nick barely kept a straight face through all of this, playing his part as a dead weight. When he landed on the ground, he jumped up, taking off his shirt.

"I'm not pushing you the next time you die," Catherine announced, coming around the car to look at the "blood" stain. It was a duplicate to the one found on John Morris' shirt.

"So it could have been a woman," Nick proposed. "That would explain the long hair I found on him."

"Congratulations," Catherine said, "you've narrowed it down to half the population of Las Vegas."

"This is just the first step, Cath, you should know that by now."

"Hmph." She looked inside the car window at the back seat. "Those stains are never going to come out."

Nick looked at the perpetually cluttered car and shrugged. "Like Greg is ever going to notice?"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Returning inside, the two investigators stopped by the DNA Lab. Nick saw the tabletop was relatively specimen-free. "Please tell me you have something for me."

Greg glanced up and nodded. "I have something for you." He chuckled at Nick's sigh of relief. "Hello, Catherine." The young technician flashed a grin. "I see you've taken pity on poor Nicky-boy."

"Someone had to," Catherine acknowledged. "It was becoming downright embarrassing."

"All right, you two," Nick interrupted, "have fun on your own time. Hand over the findings."

"Impatient, aren't you?" Greg reached over and picked up a file folder. He flipped it open and scanned the interior. "Female."

"Yes!" Nick pumped his fist in triumph.

"I ran it through CODIS—no match."

"Damn."

"Not so fast. It just happens that the DNA from your blonde's hair has seven alleles in common with your victim. She's a sibling."

"His sister?" Nick was puzzled.

"So it would seem," Greg confirmed. He handed the folder over.

"Out on a date with his sister?" Nick asked, still in a state of confusion.

"That just has way too many shades of _Deliverance_ ," Catherine said with a shudder.

Greg did a quick hum of "Duelin' Banjos," complete with pantomime.

Nick shook his head. "Secula interviewed his sister already. She claimed they weren't close."

"She got close enough to leave a hair on him recently," Greg reminded.

"Looks like we need to pay sis another visit," Catherine said. "Thanks, Greg."

"Anytime you need me to solve another case..."

The tech continued to babble as Catherine and Nick left the lab.

Pulling out his cell phone, Nick dialed Secula's number.

 _"Detective Secula."_

 __"It's Stokes. DNA just came through. The hair I found on Morris was his sister's."

 _"That's great. I have another lead I need to take care of first. I could use your help."_

 __"Uh, sure." Nick waved away Catherine's questioning glance. " Pick me up outside." He hung up the phone and related the conversation to her.

"Easily solved," Catherine said. "You chase down Secula's lead and I'll take care of Morris' sister."

"No way," Nick vehemently refused. "It's way too dangerous for you to go alone."

"I'll take Brass along." Catherine smiled wickedly. "He could use the exercise."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Detective Jim Brass ambled up the sidewalk to the Porter residence. He looked over at Catherine. "You know, Secula might be a little bent out of shape when she finds out I went behind her back on her case."

"So what?" Catherine shrugged. "You outrank her. Besides, I don't know what could've been a better lead than this."

They reached the front door and Catherine leaned forward, pressing the doorbell.

A petite blonde answered the door. Catherine eyed her, gauging her weight and strength; according to her and Nick's experiment, she could have disposed of her brother's body.

"May I help you?" the blonde asked politely.

"Emily Porter?" Catherine asked.

"Yes."

Catherine produced her ID while Brass whipped out his badge. "I'm Catherine Willows with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. This is Detective Brass. We'd like to speak with you."

After studying their identification, Emily reluctantly allowed them inside and showed them into the living room. "What can I help you with?" she asked once they sat down.

"It's about your brother."

"What about him? Is he all right?"

"He's still dead," Brass stated.

"What?" Emily's eyes welled up with tears as her voice rose. "No, that can't be true!"

"I'm sorry," the detective apologized, "I thought you already knew."

"What are you talking about? How could I know?"

Confused, Brass asked, "I thought Detective Secula already talked to you."

"Amanda?" Emily looked between the two. "What does she have to do with it?"

"You know her?" Catherine asked.

"Of course, she's dating John."

Catherine glanced over at Brass, seeing a stunned look on his face that was surely reflected on hers.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Following Detective Secula into her apartment, Nick's gaze roved the area. "Why'd we have to come here first?" He had already questioned her about the new lead, but the detective was being secretive and told him to "wait and see."

"I just needed to pick something up," Secula answered with a slight smile. She motioned to her couch. "Have a seat; I'll be out in a minute."

Nick nodded, but remained standing. He wasn't entirely comfortable and wished he had waited in the car.

Cursed with a CSI's curiosity, he couldn't resist wandering around, studying her residence. In the short time they had dated, she had stayed at his place, but he had never been to hers. The apartment was neat; her furnishings were of good quality. She had a collection of family portraits on a table near the couch, and she looked to be an only child. His gaze strayed to the corner piece, a full-sized armoire. As he glanced away, a flickering light caught his eye. Looking closer, Nick saw the armoire's door was cracked open. _Strange. Maybe she forgot a candle burning._ Worrying something could catch fire once they left, Nick walked to the armoire and pulled it open.

Nick stood stock still, staring at the contents. Within the armoire was pasted what had to be a hundred snapshots of himself in various outfits and locations, obviously taken over a period of time. The shrine was lit by the glow of a single pillar candle. Before he could fully comprehend what he was seeing, his phone rang. "Stokes."

 _"Nick,"_ Catherine's voice came through loud and anxious, _"where are you?"_

"At Secula's place. Something weird's going on."

Whatever Catherine was saying was lost to him when a harsh voice commanded, "Put the phone away, Nick."

He whipped around and saw Secula pointing a gun at him. The detective was wearing a white negligee, and her face was impassive as she trained her weapon at his head. Nick turned off the phone, hearing Catherine calling his name as he did.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Still holding her phone, Catherine turned to Brass. "Nick's in trouble. Where's Secula live?"

Brass called in for the detective's address and backup. Although they were racing through the city – lights flashing, siren blaring – it didn't seem fast enough. Anything could be happening. Catherine repeatedly tried Nick's cell phone, getting his voice mail each time. "Damn it, Nick." She hit the dash with her hand.

"We'll get there in time," Brass said, as if he was trying to convince himself as well as her.

Reaching the apartment building, they got the super's key and dashed to the female detective's floor. At the door, Catherine and Brass drew their weapons as Brass tapped on the door, shouting, "Open up – police!"

There was no response.

Unlocking the door, Brass threw it open.

"Nick?" Catherine called. "Nick!"

No answer.

They crept forward, apprehensive. Brass went in first and Catherine followed close behind.

Scanning the seemingly empty room, Brass signaled he would go left. Acknowledging his intent, Catherine moved in the opposite direction. Keeping her weapon leveled, she moved down the hallway. Nearing a room, Catherine heard a low, murmuring voice. She pushed the door open. At the far end of the room lay Amanda Secula and Nick in the bed. Nick was motionless; his head was buried against Secula's shoulder as she stroked his hair and muttered words of love.

The detective looked up and saw Catherine. She smiled languorously. "I knew we belonged together," she said.

 _Bang._

Catherine jumped at the shot and yelled, "Brass!"

She ran to the bed and ripped back the covers. Amanda Secula was clearly dead, not that Catherine was concerned with her anyway. That was reserved for Nick. She rolled him over and gasped, his open shirt revealing a bloody hole in his chest. Fingers shaking, she checked for vitals; he had a pulse, but she could feel no breath.

Brass rushed into the room, gun ready.

She shouted, "He's not breathing!"

The two of them – gently but quickly – pulled him off the bed. Catherine started CPR as Brass called for an ambulance.

"Officer down, I need emergency medical assistance!"

Catherine listened to Brass' directions with half an ear as she continued the rescue breathing. No way in hell was she going to lose her friend. Counting the repetitions in her head, Catherine again breathed air into Nick's lungs. Over and over the cycle repeated. Pulling back she watched Nick's chest rise and fall of its own accord. "He's breathing," she said. "He's breathing."

"Thank God," Brass sighed. He snatched a sheet from the bed and handed it to Catherine, before officially making sure Amanda Secula was dead.

Placing the sheet over his seeping wound, Catherine pressed down. She was disheartened when Nick remained completely unresponsive – even when she applied more pressure. Swept from her thoughts by the sounds of the arriving paramedics, she held the sheet tight until a medic relieved her.

Standing up next to Brass, Catherine watched the medical team attempt to stabilize Nick. They removed his shirt and applied a pressure bandage around his chest. Setting up an IV, they readied him for transport.

Catherine moved out of the way as a gurney was brought through. "I'm riding with you," she announced to the nearby paramedic.

"Ma'am, I think it would be best if you met us at the hospital."

"I am riding with you," Catherine stated again, her tone brokering no argument.

Nodding assent, the paramedic helped to lift the gurney transporting his patient.

Brass, hearing the brief dispute, said, "You go ahead. I'll deal with the scene."

"Thanks," Catherine called, running after her injured colleague.

Inside the ambulance, the medics continued their efforts to keep Nick alive. Catherine closed her eyes and began praying – something she hadn't done since her ex-husband Eddie's death. She sat at Nick's head, doing her best to stay out of the way. Hesitantly, she reached out and smoothed his hair. Maintaining the contact, Catherine pleaded, "Please be okay, Nicky. We can't lose you."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Catherine shuffled in the hard plastic chair, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. Nick had been rushed to surgery over an hour before, leaving her alone in the hospital's waiting room.

"Any news?"

Looking up at Brass, Catherine shook her head. "Not yet. I threatened the nurse a little while ago, but it didn't help." He sat down in the chair next to hers. "Crime scene taken care of?" she asked him.

Nodding, Brass answered, "They called in Eckley's team; thought it best not to risk a conflict of interest."

"Why should it matter? She's dead."

He chuckled. "If it didn't matter, you'd be out of a job."

"True." Scrubbing her face with her hands she sighed. "Never mind me; I've never been good at waiting."

"Where's the rest of the gang?"

"Grissom, Sara, and Warrick will be here as soon as they wrap up their case."

"Right." After a few minutes, Brass stood and said, "I hate to leave you alone again, but I have to get back to work. Seems I'm now the lead on the Morris case as well as on Nick's shooting."

"I appreciate you stopping by, Jim. I'll let you know when Nick gets out of surgery." Catherine wouldn't permit herself to think of any other outcome.

"Let him know everyone's rooting for him," Brass said before departing.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Catherine, how's Nick?"

Rising, Catherine greeted her teammates. Warrick and Sara looked dazed; Grissom couldn't hide the concern etched on his face.

"He's still in surgery," Catherine intoned. "No word yet."

"Have you tried harassing a nurse?" Warrick asked her.

"Did it. No help."

Finding seats, the team sat down to wait.

"Do you know about the shrine?" Sara broke the silence. She described the cupboard full of pictures of Nick at Secula's apartment.

"How could we not notice?" Warrick snapped. "She must've been following him for weeks!"

"Unfortunately, she had the inside track," Catherine said. "She knew how to do it, and how to get away with it."

"We should have known _something_ ," Warrick asserted.

Grissom spoke up. "There's only one person to blame and she's dead. We need to concentrate our energy on Nick."

"I just can't believe it happened again," Sara said, referring to months earlier when Nick had been stalked by Nigel Crane.

"Seems to attract 'em, doesn't he?" Warrick smiled ruefully.

Catherine suggested, "Must be that southern charm of his."

"Well, he'd better tone it down," Warrick said. "Enough is enough."

Sara shook her head. "The only way he'll lose the charm is when they bury him."

The off-the-cuff remark reminded everyone why they were at the hospital. Exchanging uncomfortable looks, they fell silent.

Catherine moved next to Gil. "You're awfully quiet," she ventured softly.

"Am I ever loud?" Grissom was matter-of-fact.

"Touché," Catherine responded. "How about… you're _especially_ quiet. What's wrong?"

"Besides the obvious?"

"Yes, besides the obvious." Catherine wasn't sure he would respond; Gil Grissom was not the most forthcoming person when it came to emotions.

Grissom glanced at Warrick and Sara before confessing, "Nick is my responsibility."

"He's a big boy, Gil."

"Nevertheless," Grissom said, "I'm head of this team, and it's the second time he's been attacked." Glancing over, fear shone from his eyes. "I don't want another Holly Gribbs."

"Holly wasn't your fault. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was unfortunate."

"And Nick?"

"He seems to find his own trouble," Catherine said wryly. "Face it, it's out of your hands. We live in a crazy place and work at a crazy job. Crazy is bound to cross over."

"I thought I was the philosophical one in this group."

"Nah," she smirked, "you just like to show it off more."

A man in green scrubs walked into the room, quickly glancing around before focusing on their small group. Walking over, he asked, "Are you here for Nicholas Stokes?"

They stood up and Grissom answered, "Yes."

"I'm Doctor Lynaugh; I operated on Mr. Stokes."

"How is he?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected. His condition has been listed as guarded but stable. The bullet missed his heart, but there was still a lot of damage. We can be grateful it was a small caliber; any larger and it's doubtful he would have made it to the hospital alive."

Catherine heard Sara gasp and Warrick grunt. Neither had realized just how badly off Nick had been.

"If there are no difficulties," Lynaugh continued, "I trust he should make a full recovery."

"Can we see him?" Catherine asked him.

"I'd rather you wait until this afternoon. He's in Recovery and I'd like him to rest." Checking the clock, the doctor said, "Come back around two and we'll see."

"Thank you, Doctor," Grissom said.

"Yeah, thanks, Doc," Warrick added.

"Well..." Catherine gave a shaky laugh, releasing the tension that had built up over the last several hours.

"Now what do we do?" Sara asked them.

"Follow the doctor's orders," Grissom responded. "Go home and get some sleep. I'm sure we'll all be back here this afternoon."

Amid protests and grumbles, Warrick and Sara headed for the exit, followed by Grissom.

"I'll catch up with you later." Catherine needed a little time to decompress. Out of everyone on the shift, Nick was the one she tended to watch out for – to mother, although she would never voice it aloud.

Ever since Nick had confessed his sexual abuse at the age of nine by a last-minute babysitter, Catherine had wanted to protect him from any more suffering. A ridiculous notion, seeing as physically she was dwarfed by his nearly six-foot frame. But she couldn't stop the feelings. Now that she knew he would be all right, her dam was cracking. Tears filled her eyes and she furiously wiped them away, trained never to show weakness.

Startled by a touch on her shoulder, Catherine whipped around. Grissom stood with his arms open and she leaned into the awkward hug.

"It's okay, Catherine. He'll be okay," Grissom whispered.

"I know," she said. "But we almost lost him." Catherine remained in the arms of her dear friend, soaking up the comfort Grissom wasn't sure how to give. After a moment she pulled out of the embrace and stepped back, reining in her emotions. "I need to see him."

"Catherine–"

"Last I saw he was covered in his own blood and practically lifeless. How can I sleep with that image in my head?"

Grissom let out a long breath. "All right, let's go."

Following the signs to Recovery, Grissom distracted the attending nurse, allowing Catherine to slink into Nick's room.

Seeing him on the bed, Catherine was taken aback. Nick didn't look much better than the last time she had seen him. He was still pale, but luckily she could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor, reassuring her of his continued survival. Moving closer, she dragged a chair next to his bed. She sat down and took his hand in hers. Rubbing tenderly, she started to talk softly. "You scared the shit out of me, Nick. Never ever do that again... I can't afford the wrinkles."

He started to rouse, a quiet groan coming from his lips.

"You're going to be okay, Nick," Catherine said, capturing his attention.

He blinked at her, confusion evident by his furrowed brow.

"I promise you'll be all right," she said, tightening the grip on his hand.

Nick nodded gently and drifted back to sleep.

Catherine smiled, knowing she had to leave; Grissom couldn't stall forever. But it was hard letting go of her connection with Nick. Reaching over, she stroked his cheek, relishing the warmth. Gently placing his hand on the bed, she stood and walked out of the recovery room.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Peeking into Nick's room, Catherine surreptitiously scrutinized him for a moment before revealing her presence. He had been moved to a private room earlier that day. Nick looked forlorn – staring out the window like a lost little boy. She would do her best to chase that mood away.

"Hey there, Tiger," Catherine purred. "Looking good."

He smiled, pulling his eyes from the bright view. "Hey, Catherine. Fancy meeting you here."

His voice wasn't as strong as usual and slightly slurred from the drugs keeping his pain under control, but it still made Catherine's heart sing. "How could I resist such a luxurious milieu?"

"Yeah," Nick chuckled mirthlessly. "Breakfast in bed, cable, everything I could ever want."

"Except real food." Catherine let her smile slip. "Seriously, how are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot in the chest."

"Nick, I'm so sorry."

"I still don't know what happened; most of it is a blank. Warrick and Griss have been here, but no one will talk to me."

"Your doctor instructed us not to upset you."

"Not knowing is upsetting me!" Nick winced as his movement pulled at his wound.

"Calm down." She looked out the door, making sure no one was alerted by the yell.

"Cath, please. What happened?"

She couldn't resist Nick's pathetic entreaty. Catherine explained how she and Brass had found out Secula was dating Morris. "It appears she killed him."

"Oh, my God." Nick was dumbfounded.

"They found his car in her parking space. The gun she used on you and herself was the same one she used on Morris."

"What else?"

"Nick..."

"Come on, Catherine," he pleaded.

"There's reason to believe she planted the hair of Morris' sister at the crime scene to distract us."

"I can't believe it. I had no idea."

"No one did, Nick. Don't blame yourself."

"But I should've spotted something."

"It was buried so deep you never would've known. Looking back, I imagine John had been a copy of you, but she still longed for the real thing."

"Nothin' but the best, right?" Nick asked self-deprecatingly.

She was startled by his caustic tone and didn't know what to say. "Nicky..."

"I suppose I should let you down easy."

Catherine looked at him, puzzled by the abrupt change in topic and manner. "Come again?"

"I heard how you came on to me when I was out of it."

"What?! That was CPR!"

Nick closed his eyes and smiled. "Po-tae-to, po-tah-to."

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the _Silk Stalkings_ episode "Dark Heart."


End file.
